


October 26th - Kit Purrson Appreciation Day

by omgericzimmermann (HMSLusitania)



Series: 13 Days of Halloween [8]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: 13 Days of Halloween, Always, M/M, WITCHES AU, peaches the wondercat, witches familiars, zimbits never happened in this au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-24 14:38:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8375956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HMSLusitania/pseuds/omgericzimmermann
Summary: Kent doesn't think cats are supposed to come with instruction manuals.  Day 8 of the 13 Days of Halloween





	

**Author's Note:**

> We're halfway there folks!

Kent is…fairly certain cats aren’t meant to come with instruction manuals.

But he spends the whole day at the animal shelter volunteering for an adoption drive, paying people’s adoption fees, and falls absolutely in love with a phenomenally giant Maine Coon that seems to be unadoptable. The giant, shockingly fluffy cat spends the entire day on his lap, sprawled across his legs and is much the size of a small child.

“Don’t you already have a cat?” Swoops asks while Kent runs his fingers through the Maine Coon’s fur. It purrs heartily.

“Yeah,” Kent agrees. “I’m taking this one too.”

He adopts the cat, even though the shelter people give him worried looks, and hand him a book that seems to be an owner’s manual. Kent really doesn’t think cats are supposed to come with owner’s manuals.

He brings the Maine Coon home and lets it get its bearings. It trots around the living room, investigating Kent’s Disney movie collection and Kit’s scratching post, and finally jumps up into Kent’s armchair and sprawls out. It takes up the entire chair.

Kit tiptoes out of the other room on her dainty little ragdoll paws and jumps up into the chair as well. She sniffs at the newcomer and then curls up by its side, her pale cream fur clashing with the orange of the Maine Coon’s. They look like one of the jars of creamsicle ice cream that they give you in elementary school. Kent sits on the floor next to them and feels blessed when Kit puts one of her paws on his head.

He opens the instruction manual.

 _How to care for a witch’s familiar,_ it says on the inside cover.

“What?” Kent asks. Neither cat responds.

_Dear owner,_

_You have acquired a witch’s familiar. Congratulations! You’ve just acquired one of the best pets known to humankind! As a witch, you surely already know the spells necessary to care for—_

Kent shuts the book.

“ _What_ ,” he repeats. It’s getting close to Halloween, so surely this is some kind of practical joke someone is playing on him because…there are so many reasons, really. His first assumption is Swoops. Kent grabs his phone and shoots his asshole friend a text.

==Swoops==

 **Me:** Hey thanks for the stupid book, asshole.

 **Swoops:** Don’t give me that shit, you loved the Iliad and if I say you’re gonna love Song of Achilles fucking trust me? It’s the Iliad except they’re actually, like, explicitly gay.

 **Swoops:** just like you.

 **Me:** I am not “explicitly” gay what the fuck does that even mean? You’re explicitly gay the way I walked in on you and Elsa in the locker room after the San Jose game what the fuck bro.

 **Me:** and no, the instruction manual for my new cat

 **Swoops:** I have literally no idea what you’re talking about.

==

Kent groans. He considers that maybe Hearts is to blame, but he left the charity event to take care of his exceptionally pregnant wife well before Kent got around to adopting the Maine Coon. The only other person at the event with him was Swoops.

And if Swoops didn’t give him the book…

Kent sleeps ill at ease that night, both Kit and his new Maine Coon curled up on the pillow next to him. When he wakes up, the Maine Coon is sprawled across him like a blanket, and Kit is curled into the hollow between his shoulder and neck as usual. She sneezes, sending cat snot flying into his ear. Also as usual.

Kent doesn’t bother to put on anything more substantial than his boxers as he shuffles to the kitchen to make breakfast for all three of them. He hopes the Maine Coon (Kenny Jr maybe?) (Is he allowed to name both his cats after himself?) likes salmon.

The answer turns out to be a very enthusiastic yes, and the cat’s purring is so loud while he eats that Kent can almost feel it vibrating the floor.

He starts on his own human breakfast when there’s a knock. He frowns. His teammates all know better than to bother him on one of their off days unless it’s an emergency, and when it is an emergency – like Hearts’ wife going into labour – they text or call first.

Kent heads to the door, still frowning, and opens it while the cats wind around his ankles. There is a short blond man standing on his front stoop, with huge brown eyes, and a flush to his golden skin. He’s wearing the tiniest shorts Kent has ever seen on an adult and an oversized sweater that was presumably appropriated from a former lover. At least, Kent finds himself hoping desperately that the previous owner of the sweater is a former lover, rather than current.

The man stares at him for just a second, and then Kent’s new Maine Coon darts out the door and launches into his arms.

“Peaches!” the man exclaims in the softest southern accent Kent’s ever heard. He closes his eyes and holds the cat close. “How did you end up all the way over here, huh?”

The cat – Peaches? – is purring louder than Kent has ever heard a cat purr, and starts grooming the man.

“Oh my gosh where did you find him?” the man asks without opening his eyes to look at Kent. The cat is the same size as the man’s torso.

“He was at the shelter,” Kent said. He clears his throat, partly because he was staring, partly because he’s not used to people seeing his bare chest and then closing their eyes and looking away.

“Oh my gosh the kid I had cat sitting said he ran away,” the man says. “I was so sad.”

Kent frowns. “If you didn’t know he was at the shelter, how did you find him?”

The man blinks finally, and looks up at Kent. His eyes go wide.

“Oh lord, you’re Kent Parson,” he says.

“Yeah,” Kent agrees, his face melting into an easy smirk. Then he frowns. “Actually you look kind of familiar too.”

“I’ve catered the NHL awards for the past couple years,” the man says. Bittle, Kent remembers suddenly. His last name is Bittle.

“Funny coincidence that I ended up with your escaped cat,” Kent says, picking up Kit, who’s starting to mew indignantly about the fact Peaches is getting snuggled and she is not.

“Um, yeah, it is,” Bittle says, flushing.

“Do you know why your cat came with an instruction manual?” Kent asks.

Bittle’s entire face goes slack. “Excuse me?”

“Here I’ll show you,” Kent says, stepping back to let Bittle – what the hell is his first name again? – into the house. Kent is gratified that he can actually feel Bittle’s eyes on his ass. He tries not to smirk too obviously. Instead, he grabs the owner’s manual and hands it to Bittle. “The people at the shelter gave it to me when I adopted him.”

Bittle takes the book and looks…concerned. “Do you have any idea what this means?”

“Someone’s taking Halloween too far?” Kent suggests.

“Mr Parson--”

“Oh god please call me Parse,” Kent interrupts. No one is Mr Parson. Well, maybe a few parsons back in merry old England or whatever. But definitely not him. “Or Kent. Or anything but late to dinner or Mr Parson.”

Bittle blinks at him and then shakes it off.

“Peaches isn’t a normal cat,” Bittle says.

“He’s a witch’s familiar?” Kent suggests, wiggling his fingers like he’s pretending to imitate spooky mist. He vows, silently, never to repeat the gesture because it’s moronic.

“He is,” Bittle says.

It’s Kent’s turn to blink. “He’s your cat.”

“Yes,” Bittle says. “Technically, I think he’s yours too.”

Kent wants to quip something about needing to call his lawyer to draw up a joint custody agreement, but registers the other part of Bittle’s statement.

“Does that make you the witch he’s familiar to?” Kent asks.

Bittle sighs, mumbles something under his breath, and suddenly Kent is wearing sweatpants with the Aces logo down the leg and a soft blue t-shirt.

“Sorry, I know it’s rude, it’s just, your abs were distracting,” Bittle says.

Eric. That’s his first name. Eric Bittle of Bittle’s Catering. Kent is about 98% sure he’d spent the last NHL awards trying to sneak into the caterers’ kitchen so he could ask him out.

“Seriously?” Elsa had asked, sipping his whiskey sour. “You could have any queer guy in the league – barring myself or Swoops since we’re happily taken – you could have – I dunno? Jack Zimmermann or Tyler Seguin or – or _whoever_ and you’re going after the caterer?”

Kent is pretty sure his reply was something to the effect of “He has pretty eyes,” followed by “and I already had Jack Zimmermann.”

“My abs were distracting?” Kent asks, the smirk disappearing in favour of a genuinely delighted grin.

Eric stares at him incredulously. “I just magicked you into clothes and you’re more interested in the fact I think you’re hot?”

Kent lets his mouth hang open while he considers his priorities.

“Yes,” he decides eventually.

“No but you don’t understand,” Eric says. “You found a witch’s familiar! You got the book! You got _my_ book and _my_ familiar which means _I’m_ the one who has to teach you how to be magical and--”

“Oh, so you’re gonna be stuck with me?” Kent interrupts.

Eric glares at him for a moment, and then sighs tiredly. He drops to Kent’s couch and Peaches jumps up and stretches across his lap, purring. Kent sits next to him and lets Kit down onto his lap. She pads across to Peaches and snuggles into the substantially larger cat’s fur.

“They look kind of like a creamsicle ice cream cup,” Eric comments.

“That’s what I said,” Kent replies. Then everything else Eric’s said catches up with him. “Wait, did you say I could do magic?”

“And there it is,” Eric mumbles. He clears his throat and faces Kent. “Yes, Kent, you can do magic. You’re a witch. I’m a witch. And because my cat chose you, I get to be your teacher.”

Kent decides he can deal with the consequences of this all later, in favour of being thrilled that the immediate consequence is Eric Bittle spending time with him.

“You know, since our cats get along so well, you should probably just stay here,” Kent says. “At least for a while.”

Eric’s eyebrows lift. “Is this your way of kidnapping me like you catnapped my cat?”

“Kidnap is such an ugly word,” Kent says. “I prefer seduce.”

Eric stares at him, and then bursts out laughing.

Eventually they get around to learning magic, and eventually Kent explains that he wanted to ask Eric out at the last NHL awards, and eventually Eric starts staying the night, and eventually Eric stops leaving in the mornings. And the entire time, their cats stay curled up in front of the fire, purring.

 

**Author's Note:**

> General Hauskeeping  
> \- How did Bitty find Peaches if he didn't know he was at the shelter? Magic. Literally.  
> \- I am trash for Bitty/Kent, and the supernatural creatures AU will feature them.  
> \- That's all


End file.
